


don't take love off the table yet

by punkpixieprince



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexuality, Cuddling, Drunkenness, Kissing, Multi, Voyeurism, misunderstandings of asexuality by various characters, surprising amount of sexual situations for a fic about a character who doesn't have sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-21 16:37:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkpixieprince/pseuds/punkpixieprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m with Michael and Lindsay, both. But I’m not fucking them.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't take love off the table yet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tamzinrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamzinrose/gifts).



> [Tamzin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tamzinrose) is responsible for the existence of this fic, btw. 200%. I was p much threatened into writing this, I take zero responsibility. And thanks forever to [Devin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/swiiftly) for making sure this is actually mostly coherent in structure and helping fix my various crimes against grammar. (Oh, and the title is from [this song](http://youtu.be/Ti3mHhCc1Jg) in [keeping with tradition](http://tehcrzy1.tumblr.com/post/52564344934).)
> 
>  **Additional notes:** The asexuality represented here is just one flavour in a huge spectrum of ace identities. Some people are very uncomfortable with even the idea of sexual situations, others aren’t. Some people are cool with having sex, it’s just not something they’re into/want for themselves! Some people might categorise Gavin here as gray-ace; others might not. Gavin never self-identifies it past ‘kissing is cool but sex is ehhh no’, so. And if you’re wondering, yes. As I said to Tamzin: “tamzin smdkfalnslamfaklnsa if you make me write this everyone's gonna think it's not even slightly disguised self-insert and they'd BE RIGHT”. _You’ve been warned._

Gavin didn’t _dislike_ sex. He didn’t mind it for other people, didn’t feel uncomfortable when people talked about their sex lives, and liked porn well enough. Hell, he’d _gotten off_ to porn. So yeah, it wasn’t that Gavin hated sex.

He just didn’t want to have it. He didn’t particularly _enjoy_ having it. Sex for Gavin was almost… it was just unnecessary. He didn’t need other people to get off; he could get off on his own just fine. It made him uncomfortable, involving other people in the process. It was overwhelming, being touched everywhere, and it was embarrassing, and sticky, and it didn’t make him feel anything more than mildly panicky and kind of grossed out. So it just wasn’t his thing, sex.

Eventually, sometime between high school, the ill-advised hook-up with Dan, and getting a job at Rooster Teeth, Gavin decided to do away with the whole business of relationships altogether. His disinterest in sex caused more problems than relationships were worth, and he was fine, really. He was honestly, absolutely, totally fine.

And then, of course, he met Lindsay and Michael.

—

At first, it had been Lindsay&Michael and Michael&Gavin.

They'd tried to make it work like that, set boundaries. From Gavin’s perspective, Michael being with Lindsay was a load off of his mind. For once, Gavin hadn't felt like he was depriving anyone of anything when he said he didn’t want to have sex, ever.

It was possible that Gavin hadn't phrased that correctly, though, because Lindsay had looked incredibly concerned and had taken him aside.

“You can, you know,” she'd said quietly, touching Gavin’s shoulder. “It’s not… just because I was here first, it doesn’t mean you can’t.”

“I don’t want to,” Gavin had replied, surprised. “I just… I genuinely do not want sex. It’s just not… it’s just not,” he said lamely. “Kissing’s good, though,” he'd added. “Kissing is _top_.”

Lindsay had laughed. “As long as you’re sure."

“I never joke about kissing,” Gavin had said seriously, and Lindsay brushed the hair out of his face, smiling at him as she pulled him back to the living room where Michael had been looking nervous and badly trying to hide it.

So yeah, at first, Michael just dating the both of them had worked. Kind of.

But the problem was—well, the problem was a lot of things, but the biggest one was—Gavin didn’t have his own flat.

While the Ramseys were supportive of his relationship (in their own slightly terrible way), it was weird, Gavin said, to make out on what was basically his parent’s couch. Sure, Gavin had heard _them_ having sex all the time, but that didn’t mean it hadn't been strange and kind of embarrassing. And he didn’t need the sort of blackmail material Geoff could casually bring up in a Let's Play or something, because Geoff was a fucking asshole like that.

They went out, on dates and around town, but it was still strange, still slightly off.

So more often than not, Gavin found himself at Michael and Lindsay’s apartment. They went swimming together, sometimes just the two of them, sometimes all three. They played video games. Occasionally, Gavin would stay over too late and sleep on the couch. The lines were starting to blur; Michael would kiss Gavin while Lindsay was curled up next to them, and Gavin would watch tiredly as Michael slipped his hand under Lindsay’s shirt.

But it was the sleeping over that finally did them in. Because one morning, Gavin woke up to the sounds of Lindsay and Michael fucking, and decided to investigate.

Gavin didn’t like sex, but only when _he_ was having it. So walking into the room where Michael was groaning, his hands on Lindsay’s hips where she straddled him, her hands on his knees, and watching Lindsay push herself up at Michael’s encouragement, that was.

That was pretty okay.

Gavin knew, distantly, that he was crossing the line. He knew that this could ruin everything. He knew he should leave, maybe even slip out of their apartment, since they hadn’t noticed him yet.

But the thing was, at that moment, Gavin didn’t _care_.

He palmed himself through his jeans almost absentmindedly. Lindsay was beautiful—he’d always noted it vaguely, like how he knew Griffon was hot as hell or that Ray was obnoxiously fantastic at videogames—but usually, it was obvious and not something to obsess over.

Now, though, it was hard to ignore now, with the breathy noises she was making, the way she threw her head back, the way Michael only had eyes for her. It was intimate and filthy at the same time, and Gavin felt way more comfortable here, in a room where his boyfriend was fucking _his_ girlfriend, than he had any right to. He didn’t want to touch, didn’t want to ruin the moment, so he stayed silent, not moving. He leaned back against the doorframe, rubbing his erection lightly, not really bothering to pay much attention to it.

Lindsay came first; she had been rubbing herself, making louder and louder noises, before collapsing forward on Michael. Michael wrapped an arm around her and tumbled them sideways, flipping her over as he continued fucking her, desperate to finish. Gavin was impressed; he couldn’t do _shit_ when it came to fucking, so to him, Michael seemed practiced, and strong, and beautiful.

When Michael came, he collapsed sideways, still half-hugging Lindsay. Gavin thought it was sweet, how he tried to be as careful as possible even post-orgasm. It was crystal clear to Gavin how much they loved each other, and that thought made him even harder.

“Having fun?” Lindsay asked, looking at him. Gavin wasn’t surprised to be caught; he hadn't really been trying to be sneaky.

He shrugged. “A bit,” he said honestly.

Michael blinked his eyes open, twitching slightly as he looked at Gavin, but not yelling or freaking out, so that was good.

“Thought you weren’t into sex,” Michael said, and it wasn’t a question.

“I’m not,” Gavin answered anyway. “As long as I’m involved, anyway.”

“Huh,” Michael said, before flopping back down.

“Wanna join us, then?” Lindsay offered, opening up the arm that wasn’t still wedged underneath Michael. “Just a cuddle?”

Gavin eyed them critically. “Nah. You’re all covered in sweat and probably jizz, that’s gross. I’ll make breakfast.”

He walked out of the bedroom, with, “Shut up, I wore a condom, asshole!” being yelled after him. He laughed, his erection fading. He didn’t really mind, honestly, and he set about seeing if they had enough eggs.

—

After that, it was Gavin&Michael&Lindsay.

They didn’t really talk about it, and Gavin was mildly worried that he and Lindsay couldn’t work without Michael, but then Lindsay took him shopping.

Michael had refused to go, but Lindsay had wanted someone with her, so she half-dragged Gavin along. At first, Gavin thought the trip would be about her, since he mostly dressed in promotional RT shit and didn’t really feel the need to actually purchase his clothing (in favour of being a walking advertisement), but then she saw a pair of bright yellow skinny jeans and Gavin was in front of a mirror in the girl’s changing room, not quite sure how he got there.

“Yellow’s not really my colour,” was all he said, so they got them in pastel green.

Lindsay linked her arms through Gavin’s and traded filthy jokes as they waded through the mall. Gavin made despairing noises about American shopping centres, and Lindsay snorted into her food court pretzel.

They came home with two bags each, and Michael sighed at both of them when they presented him with a green Hulk t-shirt with “DON’T MAKE ME ANGRY” on, but he still wore it the next day.

After that, Gavin stopped worrying about how they fit together and just knew that they _did_ , and that was what mattered.  
_____

Cuddling was a big part of relationships, to Gavin.

This was true of pretty much all his relationships with _anyone_ , but with Michael and Lindsay, it was that times a thousand.

They didn’t mind—or, rather, they understood.

He tried to explain it once, but he’d also been drunk at the time.

“’s like,” Gavin said, head on Michael’s shoulder, with Michael’s arm draped comfortably down his back, rubbing in slow circles, “’s like, you can’t cuddle yourself, right? Need someone, for it. ‘Cept, ‘cept it can’t be anyone.”

Lindsay, who had Gavin’s feet in her lap, her ankles interlocking with Michael’s on the footstool, laughed.

“Noooo,” Gavin protested, burying his head in Michael’s neck. “Don’ laugh.”

“It’s alright, Gav,” Michael said. “I get you.”

“It’s jus’, ’s like, awkward, ‘less you care. An’, uh,” Gavin lost his train of thought, “It’s important,” he said finally, even though he’d forgotten why.

“We know, bud,” Lindsay said, rubbing his feet. Gavin closed his eyes, feeling better. He felt the brush of a kiss against his forehead, but he wasn’t conscious or coherent enough to know if it was Michael or Lindsay.

Later, he thought, even though he’d been drunk, he’d also been right.

You needed at least two people, for cuddling. You needed a _relationship_ for cuddling. It was important, and it made Gavin feel safe and happy, and who needed sex when they had that?

—

Not everyone understood how they worked.

Some people, like Ray, assumed they were all fucking.

“How _is_ Lindsay, then?” Ray asked him at the next Ramsey party. He was sipping a coke and looking smug, either because he enjoyed watching his friends make fun of themselves, or because he’d booby-trapped the bathroom. Gavin made a note to approach the toilet with extreme caution, if and when he ended up needing to puke.

“She’s fine,” Gavin said brightly. “A little tired from work, but,” he waved his hand dismissively, “’s always the case, yeah?”

“No, I mean,” Ray raised an eyebrow, “you’re hitting that, right? And Michael? Or,” and here Ray frowned, “just Michael, then?”

“What, no,” Gavin said, before he backtracked. “I mean, yes, I mean.” He paused, trying to sort everything out. “I’m with Michael and Lindsay, both. But I’m not fucking them.”

“…What? That doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it does,” Gavin insisted. “We’re together, but we’re not fucking, it’s top. Well, they’re fucking. Which is also top. Everything’s… top. Except Michael.” Gavin giggled, because he was secretly thirteen. And a little bit drunk.

“That no longer sounds like a word to me,” Ray said. “You are actively destructive to the English language. Also, ew, I don’t need to know that.”

“You asked!” Gavin protested, because he totally had.

“So,” Ray said, and then paused. “How do you… I mean… you’re not having sex?”

“You’re not having sex either,” Gavin pointed out. “Unless you’re like, sexting. Are you sexting? How does that work? Do people actually get off?”

“Jesus Christ, Gavin."

“What! I’m just wonderin’. Like, it doesn’t seem very sexy, honestly. Words on a screen. Unless you’re having phone sex, but then it’s like, just silly sounds, innit?”

Ray looked faintly horrified with the entire conversation. Gavin just blinked at him.

“Right, well,” Ray said. “Whatever man, have fun doing… whatever. I’m gonna go see what the fuck Drunk Burnie is up to. I think he just made an intern cry.”

—

Other people didn’t even realise they were all together.

“Gav, hey, I’m going out with some of the guys, getting some bevs, wanna go?” Ryan said, leaning against Gavin’s desk during break. Gavin raised an eyebrow; Ryan didn’t usually invite Gavin along to things, so he guessed that ‘the guys’ also involved Barbara. Half the office had been trying to not-so-subtly set Gavin and Barbara up for months. Lindsay thought it was hilarious; Michael didn’t. 

“Nah,” Gavin said, shrugging. “Lindsay wants to go see that new Superman movie, so me and my boy Michael are jetting after work.”

Ryan gave Gavin a complicated look. Or, well, Gavin found it complicated; he didn’t do well with non-verbal communication. It had taken Michael actually kissing Gavin for Gavin to get he’d been serious about the flirting, for example.

“You spend a lot of time with Michael and Lindsay,” he said carefully.

“…Yeah?” Gavin said, slightly confused. Was this one of those ‘you’re not paying attention to your other mates’ talks? That totally wasn’t true, Gavin _worked_ with all of his other friends, they talked every day.

“I mean, it’s not… I mean, Gavin.” Ryan spread his hands. “They’re together, you know? They’re in love, and shit. It’s… they’re totally solid.”

“So?” Gavin said defensively. “I know that, it doesn’t change anything.”

Ryan sighed. “Gavin, I know you feel that way, but this isn’t healthy,” he said seriously.

Gavin spun himself around in his chair, crossing his arms. He wished Michael were there, or _anyone_ really. This was the last time he tried to work through lunch break, he swore to God.

“My relationship is none of your business,” he said, hurt. Sure, they didn’t throw their relationship in the office’s faces, and Gavin understood that he lived in Texas (even if it _was_ Austin) and worked with a bunch of video gamers, but. Gavin liked Ryan, and he liked most of his co-workers, actually, so it was a hard reality to face.

Ryan rubbed his hand across his temple. “It’s not a relationship, Gavin, it’s—I mean, I get that you like him, but you can’t just be a third wheel to his relationship constantly.”

Gavin stared at him. “What are you on about?”

“Michael,” Ryan replied. “Your crush on Michael?”

“Yees?” Gavin said slowly. “Or, well. No! I’m not—it’s _my_ relationship, too!” Gavin tipped his head to the side. “Sorry, was the making out in the break room too subtle?” It was possible Gavin had a very different idea of ‘throwing their relationship in the office’s faces’ than most people.

Ryan frowned. “Michael’s dating Lindsay,” he said.

“And he’s dating me? And I’m dating Lindsay? Remember when Griffon gave us that whole rant on, like, open marriages, or whatever?” _Gavin_ certainly remembers, if only because he spent the entire time being horribly embarrassed by how _completely unsubtle_ the Ramseys were. Families _sucked_.

“…Oh,” Ryan said. “I thought Griffon was just like, trying to convince Geoff to have a threesome.”

Gavin snorted. “Yeah, no, she doesn’t need to give a speech for that, trust me,” he said.

“Uh, okay,” Ryan said. “Um, sorry.” He paused. “So, you and Lindsay?”

Gavin sighed.

—

The Ramseys were an entirely different kind of difficult. Gavin still lived with them, technically, and they really were pretty much his American family, to the point where they were his medical proxy and speed dial 3 and 4. (Speed dial 2 was his Mum, not that he’d ever admit that, and speed dial 5 was Dan, right in the middle, _like the middle of my heart, Dan, that’s how much I love you_. Michael and Lindsay weren’t on speed dial, but that’s because he had their numbers memorised, and also because they preferred texting, anyway.)

So basically, they annoyed him about it like only the most obnoxious and weird parents could.

Geoff liked to tease Gavin about somehow managing to find _two_ attractive people who would willingly say they were dating him, but still not managing to fuck _either_ of them. Gavin usually rolled his eyes at that, because it was just Geoff being a shit, and if Geoff was being serious for more than three seconds, he’d gruffly tell Gavin he was happy for him, and also he owned a gun and shit if Gavin ever needed help. At that point, Gavin usually reminded Geoff that Geoff wasn’t _actually_ his dad, but he smiled when he said it.

On the other hand, Griffon tried to give him a calm and rational talk about how it was okay not to have sex if he didn’t want to. Which had been _horrifying_.

“I just want you to know that you shouldn’t have to feel pressured—”

“Oh my god, Griffon,” Gavin said, burying his face in his arms.

“—into anything, and that if they really love you, they’ll respect your boundaries, and many relationships can be fulfilling—”

“Are you seriously telling me about fulfilling sexless relationships?” he said, looking up. “Seriously? You?”

Griffon shrugged. “I hear stories.”

“We’re fine, Griffon, oh my god, it’s not even a big deal.”

Griffon bit her lip for a moment, but she finally smiled and tugged on a piece of Gavin’s hair.  
“I just want you to be happy,” she said. It caught Gavin off-guard.

“I am happy,” Gavin said quietly. “I… I am tippy top, Griffon, I swear.”

“Good,” she said. “You need a haircut,” she added. Gavin laughed, batting her hands away.

—  


Lindsay, Gavin thought delightedly, was beautiful.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, or he thought he said, but possibly he hadn’t said anything. Or he’d said something completely different.

Gavin couldn’t really remember, was he saying something? And when did Lindsay get there? He thought he’d been alone... or, not alone, but surrounded by people he didn’t know. He hadn't _meant_ to, he'd just had a long day and decided to go out for a bev by himself because... well, Gavin was sure he'd had a reason.

Oh, look, a bev!

“No, Gavin,” Lindsay said, “we’re going home, come on.”

“Lindsay!” Gavin said, smiling at her brightly, even as he squinted, trying to see in the bar with all the lights and the… barness. People. There were also people, all those unknown-to-Gavin people, though Gavin didn’t really understand what that had to do with squinting. Mostly though, there was Lindsay. Gavin loved Lindsay. His eyes widened when he thought that, because it was possible he also said that, but he didn’t want to, not because he didn’t love Lindsay, obviously, but because they hadn’t been dating that long, and what if she freaked out, or Michael freaked out, or they both freaked out together and everyone was one big freaking out ball of… freaking out? And Gavin munged everything up?

Gavin really, really, did not want to fuck this up. It was bad enough he wouldn't have sex with them.

Lindsay was smiling, though, even though she looked sad, for some reason, why was she sad? Was someone hitting on her? Gavin could take them, he could, like, talk them into a confusion, and that was a Pokémon attack, right? It could work.

“Come on, you big idiot, you’re only confusing yourself.”

“It works, then,” Gavin said, leaning against her as she led him out.

“Only on you, Gavin,” she said, but she ruffled his hair, so he knew she wasn’t being mean. Lindsay was good like that, she was the least mean.

“You’re the least mean,” he informed her, because it seemed like a nice thing to say, and they were dating after all.

“Someone had to take pity on you eventually."

“Michael’s mean to me all the time,” Gavin said, frowning.

“Michael’s mean to everyone all the time. It’s how you know he cares.”

Gavin nodded. “Yeah, like Geoff, only with more kissing.”

Lindsay burst into laughter. Gavin could feel it through his chest; it made him slightly dizzy. “I certainly hope so."

Gavin put his head on her shoulder and focused on not puking.

“I only kiss you,” he said, or he meant to say, and he also meant Michael, but it’s possible it didn’t come out right. Gavin had never been the best with words.

“I know,” Lindsay said, arm around his shoulder. “Don’t puke on my shoes, please. Or in my car.”

“I don’t have any more bevs,” Gavin said sadly, even as he attempted to stumble into Lindsay’s truck. Lindsay helped him up, carefully buckling him in.

“I cut you off,” Lindsay said. “I’m terrible and controlling like that.”

“No,” Gavin said. “You’re lovely.”

“You’re lovely too, most of the time,” Lindsay said. “But you just smell like beer, right now.”

“You look like… pretty,” Gavin said, like an asshat, because he couldn’t smell her right now, but he also couldn’t think of anything to compare her too that was poetic and lovely. Something a girl would like.

He was a terrible boyfriend.

“Thank you,” Lindsay said, but she was driving now, oh, when did that happen?

“I’m sorry,” Gavin said, thunking his head against the glass window. The coolness helped with the nausea.

“No, Gav,” Lindsay said quietly, but Gavin still heard her in the otherwise-silent space. “No, sweetie, we get it, it’s okay.”

Gavin wondered, briefly, how much of the talking in his head hadn’t been head-talking at all.

“It’d probably be worse,” Gavin said, wondering if they were talking about the same thing. Wondering if she’d understand his non-sequiturs anyway. “Like, it’s probably just… be tits, really.”

“It’s good now, Gavin, it’s really, really good now, okay? Don’t fucking listen to anyone else, alright?”

“What ‘bout Michael?” Gavin asked. “Listen to him, yeah?” He closed his eyes, pressing closer to the window.

“Did Michael say something?” Lindsay asked. “Is that why you decided to go get wasted without anyone with you?”

“No,” Gavin said, curling against the window. “Nooo. Yes. Maybe?”

“Gavin,” Lindsay sighed.

“I just. I’m crap, really. And, you, you’re not crap. And Michael, he likes you, and. Sex, and. What am I, really?”

“You’re ours, Gav,” Lindsay said, and no, nooo, the window was going away, but then Lindsay was there, and she kissed his forehead, and then his cheek. He leaned down, curling around her. “You’re _ours_.”

—

“Yo, asshole, wake the fuck up.”

Gavin buried his head in his blankets, the utter amounts of _no_ he felt about that obnoxious, horrific, _loud_ command conveyed via a series of complicated groans and half-hearted hand gestures.

“Yeah, you’re super fucking hungover, I heard about your little adventure. Lindsay blames me, which is fucking great, so I slept on the couch while _you_ slept in here. Sit up and drink some water and take some goddamn pills, you shit. And then we’ll talk.”

“ _No_ ,” Gavin said weakly, even as he sat up, slumping forward. “No talking.”

“Yes, talking,” Michael said, crossing his arms. Gavin moaned, but he took the aspirin and water offered. After Michael ascertained that he had, in fact, drunk enough water, he handed him his morning tea. Gavin sniffed it and pouted; it was chamomile, not his proper English breakfast.

“Lindsay said chamomile is good for hangovers,” Michael said, interpreting his expression. Or possibly reading his mind, Gavin would not put it past him.

“Lindsay isn’t my mum,” Gavin muttered, but he drank it anyway. He had a lot of experience with 'medicinal' tea.

“I sure fucking hope not,” Michael said dryly, sitting down on the bed next to Gavin. Gavin hesitated, and then leaned against him, closing his eyes and sipping his tea. He only grimaced slightly, because he was awesome like that. “Gavin,” Michael said, and Gavin sighed. It was Michael’s Serious Conversation voice.

“I just got drunk and said stupid shit, happens to everyone."

“Gav, at what fucking point did I say that you not having sex with us made you a terrible boyfriend?” Michael asked. Gavin buried his head in Michael’s shoulder.

“Let’s not,” he said. “Michaeeeel.”

“Don’t ‘Mi-cool’ me, asshole,” Michael said. “Like, goddamn, Gavin, Lindsay and I were worried as shit, okay, we had no idea where you were, and then _Joel_ called us and was like ‘yeah, I just saw Gavin at this bar, alone, what the fuck?’ and apparently he'd also called _Geoff_ , so that was a fun conversation to have at two in the morning, Christ. And then you get home, drunk as hell, and our girlfriend is all pissed at me because apparently I made you feel like shit. And I didn’t even know, so, you know, I really _must_ be a piece of shit.”

“No. It wasn’t… it wasn’t anyone, Michael, promise. I was just being stupid, yeah?”

“Gav,” Michael said quietly. “If you think… if you think us, all of us, aren’t real, or that you don’t belong here, that’s not stupid, that’s… we need to talk about that.”

Gavin clung closer to Michael and worked really hard on not hyperventilating, or crying, or throwing up. He really, really wished he wasn’t hungover.

“Michael,” he said. “Please, please, please don’t do this right now, Michael, please.”

“When else are we gonna fucking do it, huh?” Michael said, sounding genuinely frustrated.

“I’m too hungover to get broken up with,” Gavin said, miserably. “I’m not even wearing pants.”

There was a pause.

“Oh my god, you’re an idiot,” Michael said. “You’re… what the fuck, Gavin.”

“What?” Gavin said defensively. “It’s _true_.”

“Jesus, I’m not breaking up with you, moron, I’m trying to explain how we, like, love you and shit, no matter what,” Michael said, pushing him slightly, but not actually tackling him or anything, which was nice. “How the fuck did you misinterpret that? What even _goes on_ in your _brain_? ' _I’m no’ wearin’ pants!!_ ' Christ.”

“…Oh,” Gavin said quietly. He rubbed his temple, and took another sip of tea. “Oh.” Michael slung his arm around Gavin’s shoulders, rubbing Gavin’s arm, his shoulder, his head. Gavin closed his eyes.

“Yeah."

“Love you too,” Gavin mumbled.

“Yeah,” Michael said again, and even though Gavin couldn’t see his face, he knew Michael was smiling one of his beautiful, heart-stopping smiles, the type that made Gavin fall in love with him in the first place. It was the kind of smile that lit up a room, and filled Michael’s voice, and Gavin, despite still being mostly hungover, felt warm and happy and safe.

“Where’s Lindsay?” he asked later, after they sat together quietly (for once) and Gavin finished his cuppa, headache mostly soothed by drugs and possibly-medicinal tea.

“In the living room. She had to deal with you last night; said it was my turn.”

Gavin flipped him off, and then dragged himself out of bed. He staggered over to their shared closet, and poked his head inside. There were Lindsay’s shirts and skirts and pants, Michael’s hats and sweaters and shoes, Gavin’s over-abundance of RT merchandise and polos and faded jeans. He smiled at the green pants he and Lindsay had bought, before deciding on a sweatshirt he was pretty sure was actually Michael’s, but it wasn’t like they had work today, so no one was going to give him shit for it.

He also grabbed the skinny jeans, because what the hell.

He shambled out into the narrow hallway and ran into Lindsay halfway to the kitchen.

“Hey,” she said, smiling, and Gavin leaned down to hug her. “How are you feeling? Could you eat something? I made eggs.”

Gavin thought about it. “I could try eggs,” he said. “Also, I love you.” Lindsay’s hand tightened in his appropriated sweatshirt.

“Love you too, Gav,” she said quietly. “Better?”

“Maybe,” he said hesitantly, but honestly. “I… I can’t say I don’t get, like, nervous, or worried, or jealous, or whatever.”

“Okay,” Lindsay said. “That’s okay. Just know you can come to us, yeah? Or Geoff, or Griffon, or someone. You really worried a lot of people.”

“Yeah, Michael said. I’m gonna have to call them, aren’t I?” He pulled away with a sigh.

“Fuck yeah you will,” Michael said, kissing them both on the cheek quickly as he walked past. “I’m not dealing with Griffon Ramsey threatening to cut my balls off with a chainsaw at _two A.M._ ever a-fucking-gain.”

Gavin winced. “I’m sorry,” he said, again.

“Shush, you’re fine,” Lindsay said with a smile. “C’mon, eggs.”

“Okay." Gavin smiled at them both.. They grinned back, and, wow, he was stupidly in love with them, it wasn’t even funny.

—

Michael was playing Far Cry 3, which obviously meant Gavin needed to distract him. Or at least try to distract him. Or bug the shit out of him.

It was Gavin’s way of showing his appreciation of Michael’s taste. And Gavin’s way of existing in general, really.

“Michaeeel. Michael, c’mon, we’re at home.” Gavin slung a leg over Michael’s lap, wiggling his bare feet. Michael moved his arms up, out of the way. He was _ignoring_ him.

“ _Michael_ ,” Gavin said, appalled. Lindsay, who was working on her laptop, snorted. Gavin gave her a determined look, before sliding all the way onto Michael’s lap.

Michael sighed, looking up. “ _What_ , Gavin.”

“We’re _home_ , Michael,” Gavin pointed out. Really, Gavin was just being helpful. There was no reason for Michael to play this at home _and_ at work. That was just silly.

“Yes,” Michael said. “Fantastic observation.” Gavin leaned closer, putting his hands on either side of Michael’s head and pressing Michael into the couch.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” Michael said, and while he was still holding the controller, one last-ditch attempt at pretending he was still playing, his eyes were fixated on Gavin’s face. Specifically, on his lips. There was a distinct rat-a-tat noise and a yell on TV; Michael's character had just died, probably horribly. Gavin smiled gleefully as Michael made a frustrated noise and threw the controller on the ground.

“I win,” Gavin said, leaning down to kiss Michael softly, relaxing completely bonelessly against him so they were touching everywhere, comfortable and warm. Michael pulled away, but only to get better access to Gavin’s throat, arms wrapping around his back. Gavin smiled, victorious.

There were a bunch of thumps and shuffling noises from Lindsay’s direction, and then the couch dipped down next to them, enough to make Gavin slide to the right, giggling as Lindsay kissed his cheek.

“You’re such an idiot,” she said fondly, before kissing him again, this time on the lips. Gavin kissed back happily. Lindsay always tasted like strawberry lipgloss (except in the winter, when she tasted like mint). Gavin and Michael had once had a long and involved conversation about it at the office, much to the consternation of the rest of the Achievement Hunter staff.

Michael shifted them around, pulling a frowning Gavin away from Lindsay, just enough to rearrange them. Gavin settled on Lindsay’s lap, her breasts pressing against his back, his legs still straddling Michael. Michael’s feet were tucked up into the couch and hanging off the edge respectively, and they were all tangled together. It was only slightly uncomfortable, at least for Gavin.

Mostly, it was warm and made him feel surrounded and safe, and when Michael leaned over him to kiss Lindsay, eyelashes fluttering, Gavin grinned and leaned back, happy to watch. He loved how Michael’s hand came up to gently cup Lindsay’s cheek, like he still couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to kiss someone so precious.

Gavin was overcome over by a warm and light feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he grinned uncontrollably. It was completely indescribable, how much Gavin loved the way they loved each other.

“What are you up to, Gavvers,” Michael said, noticing what Gavin was pretty sure was his completely blissed out expression.

“Nothin’,” Gavin said, smiling. “I’m just… happy.”

Michael snorted, but kissed him, and now _he_ tasted faintly of strawberries, and really, that was just _brilliant_.

“We should all get that flavoured stuff, only different kinds, and then wear them, and switch it up and stuff, it’d be fun,” Gavin said thoughtfully when Michael pulled away.

“Oh my god,” Michael groaned, thumping his head against Gavin’s shoulder, but Lindsay laughed.

“I love that you love my lipgloss,” she said.

“I love that you love that I… wait,” Gavin said, already confused. “I love you,” he amended, because it was true and much easier to say. It was practically imprinted on his soul, in a way; his name was Gavin Free, he liked photography and video games, he was in love with Michael Jones and Lindsay Tuggey.

“I’m not wearing lipstick for you, Gavin,” Michael said firmly. Gavin patted him idly on the cheek.

“It’s lipgloss, Michael, ‘s different,” he assured him.

"How, exactly, is it different?" Michael asked.

“Well, it’s obvious, innit? One’s glossy, and the other one’s… not. Yeah?” Gavin said. Lindsay started giggling again, kissing Gavin on the cheek.

“Close enough,” she said.

“Don’t encourage him,” Michael told her. Lindsay just snorted.

“ _Christ_ , I hate you both,” Michael said, but he was totally lying, so it was okay.

“Don’t worry, Gav, we’ll talk him around,” Lindsay said, and Gavin gave her a high-five, because high-fives were awesome, and also because having Lindsay on your side practically guaranteed a win, and Gavin was never _ever_ above playing dirty.

Speaking of dirty, Lindsay was leaning in again, leering intently at Michael, and he grinned back, pulling her in to kiss her again, more sloppily this time. 

“Are you guys gonna have sex?” Gavin asked curiously, because Gavin had totally seen enough films to know that look meant _let’s have sex right now_.

Michael pulled away again and groaned, punching Gavin half-heartedly.

“You don’t just ask that, you idiot,” he said.

“Why?” Gavin asked.

“It ruins the mood,” Lindsay explained. “You’re supposed to refer to sex obliquely, and never really acknowledge the fact that the endgame of kissing on the couch is nakedness and orgasms, because you’re supposed to magically know these things via couples mood rings and complicated eyebrow waggles.”

“Wow,” Gavin said, laughing. “I’m so glad I don’t have sex, it sounds stressful as shit.”

“You’re both terrible people,” Michael said, head buried in Gavin’s shoulder. Lindsay patted him sympathetically.

“It’s not our fault you have horrible taste,” she said.

“But seriously,” Gavin said after a pause, “are you gonna have sex?”

Michael glared at Gavin. “Yes, Gavin, we’re gonna have sex.”

“Cool,” Gavin said. “Have fun, and stuff.” He didn’t move from where he was wedged between them, though. He figured they could sort themselves out on their own. Also Lindsay was really comfortable and warm.

“Not gonna watch?” Lindsay said.

Gavin contemplated it. “Is it okay if I don’t?” He wanted to, but he also wanted to mess with Michael’s game, where Michael was still idling (at presumably the last checkpoint before his untimely Gavin-induced death). And being a shit often won out, in Gavin’s world.

“Well,” Lindsay said, sounding hesitant. “I don’t wanna just… leave you out, but whatever makes you more comfortable?”

“Oh my god,” Michael said, “who cares, let’s just not.” And with that, he pushed them until they both fell over, awkwardly, and he clambered on top of Gavin’s (and, by default, Lindsay’s) lap, before flopping down, curling around Gavin’s chest. Lindsay wiggled a bit, scooting sideways so she wasn’t entirely buried beneath them both. Thankfully, no one fell off the couch. They were highly practiced in the three-person cuddle pile, at this point.

Gavin curled an arm around Michael’s waist, but he also bit his lip. “I didn’t mean to ruin it,” he said quietly.

“Whatever, Gavin, you didn’t,” Michael muttered, stroking Lindsay’s hair with one hand and laying his head on Gavin’s chest.

“Not everything’s about sex, not even for us,” Lindsay said.

“It’s almost like we all love each other as people or some shit,” Michael said, and Gavin was pretty sure he’d been aiming for sarcasm, but it came out all soft and without much heat. He smiled.

“Yeah,” Gavin said. “There’s that.”

He could always mess with Michael’s game another time.

—

“We neeeed… carrots,” Gavin said, squinting at the list. “And a… colander? What? Why does she need one of those strainer things, we already have one.”

Michael snatched the list from him. “Coriander, Christ, Gavin,” he snapped.

“I can’t read her handwriting! I’m sorry!”

“I cannot believe _Griffon_ has us shopping for her."

“She was busy and stuff,” Gavin reminded him, waving his arm dismissively. “Also, she said I owed her.” Gavin was never drinking alone again. It apparently caused an entire _company crisis_.

“ _You_ owe her. I don’t owe shit.” His phone buzzed, and he frowned at the screen. “Lindsay wants to know what kind of tenderloin Griffon wants."

“Uh, a tender one?” Gavin guessed. Michael shot him a glare. “Uuuuh. Nice? Ish?” he tried again.

“Griffon’s gonna kill us,” Michael said.

“We could just send her a text and ask," Gavin said, frowning at a nearby bunch of tomatoes. They were definitely not carrots, but Gavin hadn’t ruled out the possibility of them being cori-whatsits.

“No,” Michael said, with his adorably determined look on his face. Gavin smiled fondly at him on principle. “We’re gonna do this ourselves, we need to prove that we’re, like, functional adults.” Gavin snorted.

“At what point has anyone ever believed we’re functional adults?” Gavin asked, as Michael’s phone buzzed again. He held it up; it was a picture of a heap of different cuts of meat, above a line of question marks.

“I can do this,” Michael said, narrowing his eyes. “I pay taxes, I can buy groceries.”

“Alright, Michael,” Gavin said, patting him on the back and leaving him to his delusions, before wandering off in search of a colander.  
____

Gavin probably should've noticed when they went grocery shopping. He definitely should've noticed when he kept sleeping over, when Michael and Lindsay's bedroom became _their_ bedroom, when they not only had separate toothbrushes but a morning routine.

Instead, all he noticed was that they were gonna be late.

“You have ten minutes to get into the fucking car,” Lindsay said, crossing her arms, before uncrossing them with a sigh and straightening Michael’s collar.

“We’re on it!” Gavin said, hastily eating a muffin and trying to put on his shoes at the same time. Michael grabbed his arm before he fell over. “Just give us a tick.”

“What are you, Gav, the Queen?” Michael asked. “Who’s we?”

“Us, you, everyone,” Gavin muttered, before straightening up in a flail of limbs and grabbing his coat.

“You’re having lunch with Geoff today, so don’t forget your wallet,” Lindsay said.

“I wasn’t gonna,” Gavin said defensively, as he backtracked to the counter and grabbed it quickly.

“Oh my god, just get in the car already,” Lindsay said, smacking both him and Michael on the head as they headed out to the parking lot.

“Shotgun,” Michael said, swinging himself into the passenger seat as Lindsay pulled out her keys. Gavin pouted, clambering into the back.

“Michael, I don’t wanna get in the back,” he said sadly. “I think this is a metaphor, Michael,” he added, while Lindsay pulled out of the lot, heading to work.

“Shut up Gavin."

“A metaphor,” Gavin continued, “about the unequal state of this relationship.”

“It’s a metaphor for how only two people can sit in the front, Gavin,” Michael growled. “There is no such thing as an angsty relationship metaphor before nine A.M.”

“Is there not?” Gavin asked, half-laughing. “Is there like, a book of English laws, and one of them is ‘no sad metaphors in the morning’?”

“You know what, Gavin, yeah, there is,” Michael said, turning around to glare at them. “It’s not like you’d know; if there was a fucking book of English laws, you have definitely never read it.”

“You guys realise those, like, exist, right?” Lindsay said.

“I realise I wanna bludgeon Gavin to death with a book about metaphors,” Michael muttered, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes.

“This isn’t actually making me feel loved, back here.".

“Shut up, Gavin,” Lindsay and Michael said at the same time.

Gavin was still laughing when they pulled into the office, exactly on time.

—

“So,” Geoff said, looking at Gavin critically over his eggs. Gavin had no idea that Geoff could give someone a serious and meaningful look while waving a piece of bacon around in his hand, but Geoff was a man of many mysteries and talents, apparently.

“Yes?” Gavin said, squirming slightly and picking at his food. Which was practically unheard of, for Gavin.

“You realise you haven’t been home for like, a week, right?” Geoff said, pointing at Gavin with the bacon. Gavin glanced to the side, where Michael and Lindsay were having a heated conversation with Barbara and Kerry about the latest episode of My Little Pony at the next table over.

“Uh. Has it really been that long?”

“Yes,” Geoff said. “It really has.”

“Whoops?” Gavin tried. “I promise to come home tonight, if you want?”

Geoff sighed. “Do you want to, though?”

“Uh,” Gavin said, shrugging. “Sure?”

“Gavin,” Geoff said, and it was his _Gavin, don’t be a moron_ voice. “It’s okay, you know, if you… don’t.”

Gavin stared at Geoff. “Sorry?”

“Oh my god,” Geoff muttered, “you’re dumb as shit.”

“Well,” Gavin said hesitantly, “yes.”

“If you move out and into Michael and Lindsay’s apartment,” Geoff said, as if it physically pained him, “that would be, you know, okay.”

“Oh,” Gavin said. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Geoff grumbled.

There was an awkward pause, and they both ate their brunch in stiff silence.

“I’ll miss you guys,” Gavin said quietly. Geoff looked up, and then he relaxed.

“Yeah, well,” he said. “Millie will probably miss you too, because she doesn’t know any better.”

Gavin grinned. “Yeah,” he said, “Millie.”

“Shut up,” Geoff said.

“I’m totally your favourite, Geoff, don’t even try,” Gavin said primly.

“No, Ray is my favourite; _you_ are a constant thorn in my side.”

“But like, a lovable thorn,” Gavin said.

“You,” Geoff said, pointing once again, the bacon piece considerably smaller, “are the dumbest and most obnoxious person I know.”

“Yeah, but you’ll miss me anyway,” Gavin said, and Geoff sighed.

He had that effect on people. It was brilliant.

—

“This movie is terrible,” Lindsay said, curled into Gavin’s side.

“Shut up, no it’s not, ‘s brilliant,” Gavin said.

“Michael fell asleep,” Lindsay said, pointing to where Michael was sprawled across the other side of the couch, arms flung wide, popcorn bowl still balanced precariously on his lap. “He didn’t even stay awake to mock the shit out of it. This movie is _that terrible_ , Gavin.”

“Maybe he’s just tired,” Gavin said, leaning over Lindsay to steal some of Michael’s unprotected popcorn. Michael twitched, but didn’t wake up. _Ha_.

“It’s ten o’clock on a Saturday," Lindsay said, bopping him lightly on the head.

Gavin frowned at her. “Don’t ruin my fun."

“You have awful taste in fun."

“Lindsaaay,” he said, tightening his arm around her waist and sighing heavily. And then he sighed again, eyes fluttering. Mmm, he was comfortable.

“You are like a child,” she said, yawning.

“’m like, lovely,” Gavin corrected her. “You said.”

“I talk a lot of shit,” Lindsay mumbled, tugging on their shared blanket. “Stop hogging."

“I’m not,” Gavin protested, or he thought he did, but everything was kind of fuzzy and sluggish and warm.

The next morning they all woke up sheepish and sore, the TV still on, and Michael made them pancakes while grumbling the whole time about the crick in his neck.

Gavin offered to kiss it better, wrapping his arms around Michael’s waist as Michael cooked the sausages. Michael didn’t say no, and then Lindsay started loudly complaining about pain in her neck, and back, and _mouth_ Gavin, get over here, and.

Well, how could he say no to that?

They sat down to pancakes, still laughing and crumpled-looking in yesterday’s clothing, and it was perfect.

Gavin looked at them, and was suddenly reminded of his resolve, years ago. The absolute certainty he'd had, that he didn’t need a relationship, that he’d die unattached but not unhappy.

Before Michael and Lindsay, Gavin had been okay with the idea of being alone. It hadn't even been resignation, or isolation or uncertainty; Gavin had loved his friends and his family (both of them), had loved curling up on the couch with Geoff and watching a movie and falling asleep to the rhythm of Griffon’s breathing. He hadn't needed anything else, his human contact had been pleasant and nice and he'd liked it, liked who he surrounded himself with. He hadn't been lonely or sad. He gotten enough out of his friendships, he didn’t _need_ a relationship.

But now, here, at this table where Michael was teasing Lindsay about the amount of whipped cream she smothered on her pancakes, where Gavin was waging foot-related war on the both of them and losing, badly, Gavin realised that being _content_ could never replace being _in love_. Love wasn’t a static feeling, it was harder to work for and far more stressful, it could cause him to be the happiest he’d ever been one moment and hopelessly miserable the next (and occasionally both emotions, along with quite a few others, all at the same time). It was awful and wonderful, all at once, and it was absolutely irreplaceable.

Gavin had no idea why he’d ever thought having sex had anything to do with being in love, and that he needed one to have the other, but he was glad he had Lindsay and Michael, to dissuade him of that notion.

He smiled, shook his head, and ate his pancake, stealing strawberries off of Michael’s plate.


End file.
